Endow This Horse With A Human Face
by Argentine Rose
Summary: Cross over with Tangled. Inspector Javert decides to purchase a horse and, in doing so, finds a kindred spirit.
1. Prologue: The genesis of an urban myth

**A/N: The inspiration for this – and the credit/blame – lies largely with AmZ. Oh, and a little bit with Jester and Ginger, who have yet to catch a criminal or return a stolen tiara, but have provided me with hours of entertainment.**

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. It's not always clear why"

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J K Rowling

"They have always understood a great deal more that they let on. It is difficult to be sat on all day, every day, by some other creature, without forming an opinion about them.  
>On the other hand, it is perfectly possible to sit all day, every day, on top of another creature and not have the slightest though about them whatsoever."<br>Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency[Horses have] always understood a great deal more than they let on. It is difficult to be sat on, all day, every day, by some other creature without forming an opinion about them"

Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, Douglas Adams

There is a story still sometimes told by the old men and goodwives in Montreuil sur Mer and its environs, a comical story which has passed almost into the realm of the folk tale. The story is usually titled "How Monsieur Javert came to purchase That Horse, and Monsieur Bamatabois did not". This story has a sequel, unusual in being even more amusing than its predecessor - "In which Inspector Javert's English stallion eats Mayor Madeleine's hat" (this story too has its sequel - "How the town found out that Mayor Madeleine was not at all what they thought him" which is the most exciting of them all, but not told with the same thigh slapping humour as the other two, unsurprising given its end)

Not that Maitre Scaufflaire could have imagined making such a great contribution to the town's archive of lore and gossip when he returned from a horse fair in Lille with two grey horses in the late spring of 1820. All he felt was smug at his bargain, and all he anticipated was making a very healthy profit. However, the best laid plans of mice and horse dealers . . . let us just say that Scaufflaire soon found himself 'saddled' with some problems.

The first of these beasts, a little dappled, ugly Boulonais, had been sold to Scaufflaire as "swift as the wind, gentle as a girl". Both these things he was indeed – but he was also unridable. But Monsieur Scaufflaire was a resourceful man – he named the little gelding Trouble and put him between the shafts of a cart. Trouble was more amenable to this and Scaufflaire ended up more than recouping his investment loaning him out to those who did not keep their own carriage. Since little Trouble was far too well mannered to eat a hat, and did not result in the humiliation of M. Bamatabois at the unwitting hands of Inspector Javert, you may put him out of your mind for now (do not forget him completely though – he plays a pivotal, though silent, role in the third story of the trilogy above)

The second grey horse had initially seemed like a far more inviting proposition. He was certainly the most splendid horse to be seen in the district for quite some time – seventeen hands of pure English thoroughbred, white as the first snows and built for speed. More or less fanciful rumours began to spread about the horse's provenance from the get go – he had been bred by the Duke of Wellington, he was a descendant of Eclipse, he had been imported from across the Channel by a Marquis who had then been forced to flee the country in circumstances which were not discussed in polite circles in the Pas de Calais. And, most curious of all, Scaufflaire had paid less for this equine paragon than one might ordinarily pay for a donkey!

It soon became clear why, and 'That Horse' became something of a local celebrity. The horse had come to Scaufflaire named Maximus. Scaufflaire briefly considered renaming him Pain-In-The-Arse, but eventually decided this to be frivolous. So the big white stallion remained as Maximus, and by and large Monsieur Scaufflaire tried to forget about him (and the amount of hay he was eating). One day he would find someone daft enough to buy him. One day. Wouldn't he?

But two such foolish people? Two foolish grown men prepared to make a wager over the beast? That idea had never occurred to Scaufflaire at all . . .


	2. Chapter One: A Purchase Purely Practical

**A/N: Ok, ok so I know that the Policing of Rural Communes Initiative is a load of un-historical guff invented purely to facilitate the story. And I know that Javert was far more likely to have been in the infantry than the cavalry . . . and that Hugo doesn't specifically mention him having been in the army at all (it's just that quite how a tall, strong, fit man like that could have escaped being enlisted during one of the most militarised period of French history is slightly beyond me)**

**Anyway . . . **

"I've come about a horse"

'_Well of course you have!'_ Scaufflaire thought, _'this is why you are here and not in the baker's! Is there something about becoming a policeman which means one is compelled, ever after, to state the blindingly obvious?_

All he said was, "How marvellous. Well, you've come to the right place Monsieur Javert"

He lifted the saddle he had been cleaning from his lap and strode from the barn into the courtyard. "Well then, follow me."

This Javert did, but slowly, with his arms folded over his chest, as if he would really rather have been anywhere else.

"And is it to hire or to buy, this horse?"

"To buy" Javert answered tersely, as if the very thought depressed him.

"And is it to ride or to drive? Or both?"

"To ride" Javert said, with the slightly hunted look of a man who fears that he will be press ganged into buying a cabriolet before the day is done.

"I take it that you do know how to ride, Monsieur Javert?" Scaufflaire enquired with a hesitant delicacy. He did not wish to give offence, but it was amazing how many people didn't. Or who – quite erroneously - thought they could and then got into terrible scrapes.

''_Given that I used to be in the cavalry, I should certainly hope so!'_ Javert snapped inwardly – all Scaufflaire got out of him, however, was a terse and vaguely bored "Yep"

"And were you looking for anything in particular?"

"Oh, you know – not really. Four legs; mane and tail; ears rotating through three-hundred and sixty degrees; one end bites and the other one kicks. That sort of thing," Javert spoke in the same flat, dispassionate voice as before but his grey eyes sparkled nastily and the corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily. If he wasn't going to enjoy his morning, then he'd make damn straight no-one else would either.

"Yes, quite" Scaufflaire returned politely, "Could you just excuse me for a moment though – I see Monsieur Carnot has called about settling our feed bill."

As he strode off across the cobbled stable yard he remarked under his breath, too low for Javert to possibly hear, "Oh give me strength!"

Unfortunately for Scaufflaire, Javert had excellent hearing, and the good Inspector had to feign a rather theatrical coughing fit to cover his glee at having throw Scaufflaire off balance in under five minutes. This was a record even for him.

Watching the Fleming stride off into the distance through half closed eyes, Javert leant his back against the door of one of the loose boxes that looked over the stable yard and pouted.

Truth be told, Javert was still feeling rather resistant to the idea of purchasing a horse. He had avoided coming to see Scaufflaire for as long as he could find other immediately pressing things do, and now he was here he was conducting business with all the surly bad grace he could muster.

At that point a lean, sad old mare, as grizzled and whiskery as Javert himself, stuck her head over the door Javert was leaning on. She gently nuzzled his side whiskers, snorted in his ear and then, seeming to decide that he was really rather uninteresting, ambled back into the shadow of her box.

"I know how you feel, old lass" he mumbled.

Drat it! His bad humour was all the fault of that wretched Madeleine – baiting Scaufflaire was merely a displacement activity.

It had all started when Madeleine had become Mayor, a good few months back now. Well, actually it had probably started when Javert had been 'promoted' from Paris to take charge of Montreuil's police. '_Although',_ he mused, '_it had probably started a good long time before that – who knew where anything really started? Wasn't life just one set of significant circumstances leading into another until the mind grew dizzy and light faded out forever?'_

Actually, scrap that. Let's just say it started with the Policing of Rural Communes Initiative. Oh, and he was still blaming Madeleine.

Madeleine's initiative for Policing Rural Communes was a whole heap of irritation for Javert, once again dressed up as a promotion. He had to admit that it was one of Madeleine's less crackpot schemes (better by far than '_Project-Hug-A-Harlot'_ or '_Initiative-For-Making-Felons-Feel-All-Warm-And-Fuzzy'_ – not that these were real schemes the Mayor had proposed, you understand, merely the kind of thing Javert, in his darker moments, feared he might one day trot out). He also had to admit that the policing of the rural communities around Montreuil left much to be desired, and that it was high time someone took it in hand – and that someone may as well be Madeleine and his very good self. He just wished that the now frequent tours he was having to make amongst the various outlying villages could be less time consuming and physically exhausting.

He'd started off trying to accomplish them on foot – a position which he'd soon realised was untenable, although the streak of dogged masochism in his nature had made him press on doing it until he'd made himself ill. He'd tried borrowing horses from the local garrison, which had been a farce. He'd tried improvising journeys using the local coach network, which was horrendously unreliable and only served to make him cross. He'd even considered getting himself transferred back to Paris where they had this wonderful invention, seemingly unknown in M-Sur-M, called the cab. To no avail.

'_I suppose I'll have to buy a horse'_ he'd thought, and had just managed to talk himself round the considerable expense and the fact that a horse was just another damn thing to worry about when Madeleine had made the very same suggestion, adding to it that he would be happy to reimburse the cost of its livery from the town's coffers on the understanding that animal would be a shared resource available to other public officials. This had made Javert dig his heels in and dismiss the suggestion for a further few weeks. During this time he'd continued borrowing post horses at need – despite the nasty suspicion that this was working out as _more_ expensive for the municipality.

Any time Madeleine suggested anything to him he automatically felt a strong desire to do the opposite, that was most of the meat of this argument, childish though he knew the impulse to be. He had been secretly and guiltily looking forward to getting back in the saddle too. Javert liked horses, he understood them and they, by and large, understood him too. He had occasionally been heard to remark that if he ever met a woman as loyal as a horse he would be married, if he ever met a friend as understanding as a horse he would cultivate them, and if he ever found a brother officer as hard working as a horse he'd spend less time complaining whilst doing overtime! It was just that Madeleine's seal of approval automatically took the fun out of the project.

And any suggestion of charity from the Mayor made him feel sick to his craw. He knew full well that his salary wouldn't actually stretch to the cost of keeping a mount, and even though it was presented to him as the most beneficial course of action from a purely practical, governmental standpoint, Javert couldn't help but feel the clammy touch of Madeleine's flabby benevolence in the gesture, which made him wish to recoil from it. It was only when he'd done the sums himself one evening after a particularly trying 15 mile round trip to some God forsaken hamlet or other that he'd accepted that it genuinely was the soundest option.

And so here he was.

Maybe, he reasoned, it was time to stop being so sulky and ungrateful and get on with it. Maybe that English expression about not looking a gift horse in the mouth was an opposite, if rather obvious, fit for this situation.


	3. Chapter Two: Victory to Scaufflaire

Just over an hour later and all Javert's good intentions had come to nothing. He was in as filthy a temper as ever he had been. He had now examined every horse on Scaufflaire's yard (it _felt_ like every horse in the Departement) and had dismissed them all. In ascending order of inappropriateness there had been

Item one: A 16 hand, five year old black Norman cob with a price so astronomical it had made Javert's face twitch _("Do I perhaps look as if I am a Rothschild?")_

Item two: The old mare who had befriended Javert earlier. He had been tempted until he'd noticed the line of white pin firing scars down her back legs. _("Doubt she'd stay sound for a brisk walk across Montreuil – I've got to get to Amiens next week!"_)

Item three: Trouble. Self explanatory (_I'm not buying a cart! You can just fu – Can just get lost_!)

Item four: A sturdy, ugly black and white animal with two wall eyes which Scaufflaire had described thus, "It's a gypsy cob, Monsieur Javert. Very strong in the forelegs. Just the thing for you!" _("Are you actually taking the piss?")_

"Item five: A mule. Now Javert was not a physically vain man – largely because he had the good sense to realise that he had little to be vain of on that front – but even he had his limits ("_Next_")

Item six: An unbroken English mare which had proved too crazed even for the racetrack ("_Do I perhaps look suicidal?")_

Item seven: A pony. It was 13 hands, Javert was six foot. No words were necessary.

A rather despairing Scaufflaire (watched by his wife, small daughter and a couple of stable hands) was now trotting up the last horse he had to offer, a pretty little bay Arab about which Javert had begun to feel optimistic until he looked at its teeth and took a punt at its age.

"This horse fought at Waterloo" Scaufflaire remarked earnestly

"I think he might well mean Valmy!" Javert growled over his shoulder.

And since when had he, Javert, started making joking asides to Monsieur Bamatabois, of all people, as if they were friends? Not that he had a problem with Bamatabois per se. He was a rich landowner and a voter and, as such, Javert esteemed him highly (Although the use of the word 'esteemed' was a bad sign in itself. Gentlemen used 'esteemed' in much the same way women used 'nice' - to mean 'ghastly but can't really say so in public'). he felt that they might be able to force some kind of comradeship in adversity.

Bamatabois had arrived while Scaufflaire was putting the black cob through its paces. If anyone could have afforded the animal's exorbitant asking price it was Bamatabois, but he had declared it "stocky and common" and demanded to be shown something else. He had briefly flirted with the idea of purchasing the English filly, until she had bitten him hard enough to draw blood. Now he was watching Scaufflaire parade his aging remnant of Bonaparte's cavalry with an expression almost as grim as Javert's

"Oh take the poor nag away Scaufflaire," he drawled, "It's making me sad"

Scaufflaire sighed deeply and handed the horse to a stable lad.

"And that's it?" Javert and Bamatabois asked in doleful chorus.

"Yes, Messieurs, I am very much afraid so"

As the two men turned to go, Scaufflaire was struck by a sudden idea – _'why not? It certainly could make matters any worse!'_

He let them walk on a few paces, before calling out with carefully studied nonchalance, "Hang on Messieurs – I might have one other option!"

Just as he'd predicted, Messieurs Javert and Bamatabois turned around and gazed at him expectantly.

"Well," sighed Maitre Scaufflaire, "there's always . . ."

"You don't mean . . . That Horse?" they said in unison.

"I do! I mean my Maximus!"

Judging his moment to perfection, Scaufflaire thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and strode off across the field as if the two gentlemen were welcome to take or leave 'his Maximus' as they pleased. Javert and Bamatabois followed him, the latter looking in high spirits for the first time that morning.

"What jolly fun!" he exclaimed, "The man who tamed That Horse would be the talk of the district for certain! And think of how admiring the ladies would be!"

"Of course," Scaufflaire called back over his shoulder, "We'll have to fetch him in from the field"

"Oh for fucksake!" Javert muttered through gritted teeth, but he did not turn back.

As Scaufflaire passed his wife who had, as we have mentioned, been watching proceedings from the edge of the stable yard, she caught hold of his and whispered "I do hope you know what you're about."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"They won't want That Horse!" snapped Madame Scaufflaire., "Nobody ever does"


	4. Chapter Three: Maximus

"Well, there he is!" Maitre Scaufflaire announced cheerfully, pointing to the far end of the paddock.  
>"Monsieur Scaufflaire, that's not a horse. That's a thicket! "guffawed Bamatabois.<br>Javert looked to the corner of the field (quagmirish even in July) which Scaufflaire had indicated. At first glance there was indeed nothing to be seen but a tangled, spiky looking bramble thicket. But, peering closer, Javert picked out a flickering patch of white which looked as if it could be – and indeed was – a horse's tail, lashing back and forth in a thoroughly bad tempered fashion. One hardly had to be a detective to figure out to whom it belonged.

"No, no – there he is indeed! Shall we go and catch him then?"

"Oh, Monsieur Javert," the Fleming sighed, "I should so dearly love to see you try"  
>The horse, Maximus, had almost completely hidden himself in the thicket, and was glaring at the approaching men balefully, his eyes rimmed white and ears pinned flat back on his head. The creature's expression, of fear mingled with extreme and savage consternation, was almost human and most unnerving - although the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that the stallion's impressively large, chalk white rump could be distinctly seen poking out of the scrub. The twitching tale added to the comedy of the picture, making Maximus look like a large dog who had contrived to get his head stuck in some wrought iron park railings.<p>

With each step the men took towards him, the horse took a further step back into the tangle of briar, snorting crossly.

"Well, what are you going to do about him?" Bamatabois asked the horse trader and the police officer (he had never once in his life caught and saddled his own horse – he certainly wasn't about to start by extricating the terror of the district from a thorn bush)

"Oh I'm not going to do anything," said Scaufflaire, "If you want it, you catch it. That's the golden rule on my yard."

Javert glared balefully at Scaufflaire and Bamatabois, then strode over to the briar thicket. He tried to consider the horse as he would a cornered felon that he wished to bring in with a minimum of fuss and effort. _"If I were this gaillard Maximus, what would I do?"_ He cocked his head to one side and pouted, "_Well, I think I'd finish backing out of that bramble patch, spin left on my haunches and make a bid down the fence towards freedom. Ergo I shall feint going left, go right, and cut him off!"_

Alas for Javert, what he did not see was the horse cock one ear in his direction and = improbable as this sounds, even in a folk tale – roll its eyes, actually role its eyes as if to say, "_Oh, think you're clever do you? We'll see!"_

Consequently, when Javert darted right to where he thought the horse would take his most likely escape route, Maximus simply shouldered him aside into the mud and ran to the left, breaking out of the thicket at considerable speed. He circled the astonished Scaufflaire and Bamatabois, shaking his beautiful head and squealing, before running a lap of the field, fly bucking and leaping into the air as he went, whinnying and squealing so loudly that the two men had to raise their voices.

"And how long will he do that for?" asked Bamatabois  
>"Until he tires himself out" Sighed Scaufflaire.<p>

What Maximus actually did was canter back to the thicket and pull up with a sliding stop next to Javert, who was still lying sprawling flat out in the mud, his pride and good temper mortally wounded, but otherwise fine. Javert felt the horse's muzzle on his face, as soft and delicate as pinkish-grey velour. He opened his eyes to see the horse looking at him with such a quizzical expression that he could have sworn it was asking "_What the devil are you doing down there old chap? I was only playing!"_

"What do you imagine I'm doing down here, eh?" he said woozily, slowly getting to his feet.

At a distance, Bamatabois heard these words and sniggeringly whispered to Scaufflaire, "He's talking to himself"

"Shock probably. Still, he isn't the first and he won't be the last."

Even as the two man enjoyed their joke they noticed that the horse Maximus was trailing behind the policeman Javert, occasionally bumping him in the small of the back, for all the world as if to say "_Hullo you! Yes, you! I am still speaking to you!"_

"Congratulations Monsieur Javert – I've never seem it accomplished that way before.

With this remark Scaufflaire was saving face. The truth was, aside from Scaufflaire's two children, no one had successfully caught or saddled the horse since he bought it.

Back at the yard Scaufflaire's children, Paul and Manon, appeared carrying a saddle and bridle both larger than they were. They had Maximus saddled in no time, despite the fact that the boy had to stand on the fence to reach his back. He even lowered his head obligingly so that the little girl could pull the reins over his head and slip the bit in his mouth.

Javert noted that the horse did not even puff out its stomach when the boy did up his girth. _"That horse is lazy – and it has taken a fancy to those children,_" he thought to himself, "_It has no intention of being sold to someone who will expect it to exert itself on police business or on the hunting field when it can be their spoilt pet. And good luck to it!"_

He tipped his hat to Scaufflaire and Bamatabois then strode off without offering an explanation for his departure. He did not come on shift for another two hours but, frankly, anything was better than this. He still had some friends back in the cavalry – maybe if he wrote them, they would find him something suitable.

He turned and looked back at the yard, Maximus was executing a high speed turn on the forehand in an effort to get away from Bamatabois, who had one foot in a stirrup and was attempting to scramble up into the saddle with no real success.

Javert turned away, smirked, "Yes, I really must get a horse – but not that one! Oh my Gentle Jesus no indeed!"


	5. Chapter Four: The Virgin and The Unicorn

**A/N: Apologies for the formatting of the previous chapter – not really sure what went awry there! Also not really sure how what was meant to be a 3 chapter story has become so damn long . . .**

How much more ridiculous could his life become? He was having a stand off in the town square with, of all things, a horse – and he was losing!

What had taken place after Javert had left Scaufflaire's yard was this: Bamatabois had briefly succeeded in getting himself seated on Maximus' back and had been feeling rather smug – until the wily stallion had sent him flying into the manure heap with a truly spectacular handstand buck. Maximus had then hop-skipped over the yard's five bar gate and gone tearing off down the road into town, where he had taken it into his head to run amuck, repeating his bucking and squealing performance of earlier. As it was market day, and the square was crowded, the loose horse had caused uproar and the centre of the town had ground to a standstill.

The stallion was currently engaged in a 'hostage situation' with Mme Fontan, who kept a fruit and vegetable stall. It was staring longingly at a large pile of shiny apples she had arranged at the front of her barrow, pawing it front foot impatiently. Every time Mama Fontan attempted to step out from behind his stall the horse snapped at her aggressively and neighed, causing her to shriek loudly. If any of the other stall holders approached it from behind it would kick out violently, which also provoked a fair amount of shrieking.

"_Women really do shriek at the most extra-ordinary things,"_ Javert mused as he surveyed the chaos before him, _"You'd think it were an army of Cossacks come to eat her children rather than one over bred dobbin! In the case of Mme Fontan's children it would be no bad thing if it were cannibal Cossacks either . . . God these people are idiots!"_

This was by no means the first time Maximus had escaped from Scaufflaire's yard and taken himself on a tour of the town. Nor was it the first time his peregrinations had caused chaos and consternation. It was, however, the first time Javert had been expected to deal with it – hitherto, by some quirk of kindly Lady Fortuna, these breakouts had always been somebody else's problem. Not, alas, today.

Best make a start then! He took a few paces out of the circle of onlookers towards the horse, which turned around to face him.

Javert stared at the horse. The horse stared right back at him. Javert took a step back, folded his arms, cocked his head to one side and knitted his browns as if considering a difficult mathematical calculation. The horse, likewise, took a step back, tossed its head in the air and cocked it in a mirror image of Javert. The it circled both its dainty ears 360 degrees, scoping out the crowd, ending with them both pointing intently at Javert, as if he were the most interesting thing the horse had encountered in some time.

Javert pouted thoughtfully, pushing his upper lip up towards his nose with his lower one, then sighed deeply. The horse made a moue of bafflement, wrinkling its nose, and then whickered loudly.

Surprisingly, it was not at all an unfriendly sound and so Javert decided that it was time to grab the bull by the horns (well, not exactly but . . well, he knew what he meant, in his head)

He strode towards the horse and laid a broad hand on the side of its shoulder. It offered no resistance, simply whickered again as if to say _"Pax?"_

Tentatively, Javert patted the stallion's heavily muscled neck, a move which earned a nod of the head and a whinny. Maximus turned his head to face Javert, and stuck his grey velveteen nose in Javert's face, sniffing him, moving down across his body until he reached the inside left pocket of Javert's greatcoat, where the Inspector had put what was to be his lunch – a brioche roll and an apple. The horse nuzzled the pocket and whickered again questioningly

"What?"

The stallion whickered again, louder, and bumped Javert hard with his nose.

The whole process strongly reminded Javert of shaking a prisoner down for contraband

"Oh, so that's what you're after? Greedy Beggar!"

He retrieved the apple from his pocket, took a bite from it, and then held out the remains in his palm to the horse, who stood crunching on it happily while Javert ate the brioche. When Maximus had finished he leant his head against Javert's should and, drooling slightly, dozed off as if he were completely innocent of all the uproar around him.

"Really," Javert announced to the crowd, "I don't understand what you were all making such brouhaha about – he's as gentle as a cat! Now, does anyone have some rope I might borrow?"

He was met by a sea of blank faces.

"Market day and no-one has a rope! Wonderful!" He shook his head despairingly. Sometimes he wondered whether Montreuil was depriving every other village in France of their idiots. What to do? He didn't have anything about his person with which to halter the horse (well, he had his belt, but his britches didn't fit properly and he wasn't about to make that mistake with half the town assembled)

So, he decided to take a calculated risk. He nudged the horse awake, looked it in the eye and then strode off purposefully with his hands behind his back. After half a dozen paces he turned and barked, as the people of the town had so often heard him bark at the unfortunates he arrested, "Well then, are you coming?"

The horse shook itself all over, whinnied again as if to say '_what the heck!'_ and then dipped its head and loped after Javert.

As he walked through the assembled crowd in the square Javert happened to catch the eye of Renee La Bosse, who turned and said to her companion in a voice caught between mockery and wonder "How wonderful! The Virgin captures the Unicorn, just like the fairy stories say!"

When they had left the crowd behind and were walking through the narrow backstreets of the town Javert stopped and turned to face the horse and exclaimed gruffly "The Virgin and the Unicorn indeed! Pff! What nonsense!"

The horse nodded, seemingly in agreement.

"Any fool can see you're not a unicorn – you're a public bloody menace!"

And, bringing his hand out from behind his back, Javert opened his fist to reveal the last morsel of the brioche roll, which he held out to the horse. Maximus ate it greedily.

"Idiots!" Javert scoffed, scratching the horse's long ears.

Maximus snorted, _"Yeah, idiots!"_

2


	6. Chapter Five: Beginning of a partnership

Slowly, still huffing indignantly under his breath, Javert lead Maximus back through the narrow streets of the old town to Scaufflaire's yard. Although he didn't have to do much actual leading – the horse just followed him, head down and ears pricked in a steady, workmanlike way. It was at once extremely touching and more than a little uncanny and, frankly, weird. More than one citizen turned their head to watch as they passed, and stared after them wearing slightly baffled expressions which plainly said "_Is that . . . ? It bloody is! And with . . . Well, That Horse and That Man, figures!"_

As Javert walked he talked to himself, perfectly audibly, much to the surprise and amusement of everyone they passed. Javert talked to himself a good deal of the time (increasingly so since coming to Montreuil it seemed) but usually he tried to keep his musings if not interior then at least at a whisper directly solely to his cravat. On this occasion he figured he was fine to speak aloud – after all, he wasn't strictly talking to _himself_. He was talking to Maximus, which was fine. Perfectly socially acceptable and not mental at all

Who was he kidding?

He drew level with the horse's shoulder and addressed it conversationally, "Now, Horse – is it a greater proof of insanity to be found talking to oneself or to one's steed, eh?"

For an answer, Maximus tossed his head in the air and neighed.

"Ah, I see, just as I feared – both equally fruitcakish! Although I feel the real proof of my madness is that I imagined a horse might be interested in the finer points of rural policing. Sorry about that – you're not the first person to indicate that I get quite boring on that subject"

The horse whickered and then nuzzled Javert's shoulder consolingly.

"Now, I suppose the next question is what are we going to do about you? Monsieur Bamatabois is unlikely to want to buy you after today's little performance, that's as sure as God made little green apples! And don't go thinking you can hang about being petted by Scaufflaire's children and wolfing down bushels of oats indefinitely either! No, my laddie, that is a dodge that won't last forever. Any fool can see that Scaufflaire is getting heartily sick of you. Who in their right minds would not – "

At that moment Javert glanced over his right shoulder and noticed that Maximus was no longer walking behind him. The horse had stopped a few metres back, outside the door of a small workman's cottage, and was looking agitated, arching its neck, pawing the ground and snorting.

"What is the matter with you Horse? Surely you're not sulking because I implied that you might be ever so slightly delinquent?"

Maximus glared at Javert as if to say "_Oh don't be so ridiculous_" and resumed pawing at the doorstep of the cottage with greater urgency than before.

For roughly half a minute Javert stood stock still looking at the horse. In this time he came up with three conclusions. Firstly, Maximus was a horse and as such incapable of taking offence at, or even understanding, what he had been saying. Secondly, the horse looked genuinely spooked and agitated. Thirdly, the cottage's ground floor shutters were open in a decidedly suspicious manner and he could hear sounds of movement inside, as if someone were opening drawers and shifting the furniture back and forth.

"Now then!" he exclaimed, taking his cane from under his arm and striding towards the door. He tried the door handle, but it was locked. That said, it was a cheap lock and ancient – Javert knew that he could force it open with a sharp jolt.

Although that could well be construed as breaking and entering.

He looked back at the horse, "It's probably nothing – you Thoroughbreds are always so flighty and oversensitive. It's probably just Monsieur Carnot moving his furniture. Why, I'll wager all this fuss is probably because you've smelled what they've cooked for tea and would like a helping!"

The horse shook its head vigorously and began to paw more frantically on the ground. Then it lifted its left foreleg and kicked three times on the door, as if it were knocking to come it.

Javert sighed, this was too ridiculous. But then again, Carnot worked at Madeleine's factoyr – and the workers there did not get out for at least another four hours. Also, no-one in this part of town left their shutters open – it was a deprived district and none too distant from the slaughterhouse to boot. Something was most likely amiss here.

"Monsieur Carnot? It's Inspector Javert – is everything alright in there?"

Javert heard what sounded like a muffled curse following by a little more banging.

Within second Javert forced the lock, opened the door and strode into the house. Maximus following him, bold as brass, across the kitchen floor"

"Just what do you think you're doing? Horse in house? I don't think so! Shoo!"

Sheepishly the horse backed up until it was standing in the doorway.

"You're still across the threshold you know - "

Maximus inched back even further until the tips of his hooves were just poised to cross the cottage's threshold. He stretched out his neck from this position to get as good a view as he was able.

"Thank you! Now what have we here!" he exclaimed, raising his stick at the burly, white haired figure frantically riffling through a drawer, "I would advise you to turn around slowly with your hands raised."

This the figure did. It was Mayor Madeleine, blushing crimson, "I can explain!"


	7. Chapter Six: A Theft in Reverse

For a split second Javert was tempted to yell _"I knew it!"_ and wrestled the Mayor to the floor. However, the habits of a conflict averse and sarcastic lifetime prevailed and he contented himself with folding his arms and drawling, "Might I be permitted to enquire quite what it is that Monsieur le Maire is doing?"

"Good afternoon Monsieur Javert. I was just . . . on my way out, actually," Madeleine stammered, clearly mortified. He then gestured to the open door, "Shall we? Oh, good Lord – is that a horse?"

What Javert wanted to reply to this, possibly more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, was the following: "Your _powers of perception never cease to astound me, Monsieur le Maire! Tomorrow I shall write to Chabouillet and tell him 'never fear, should Vidocq wish to retire, I have found a perfect next head of the__ Sureté__ –not only a housebreaker but a brilliant deductive mind!"_

However, mindful that the Mayor's position on the ladder of state hierarchy was rungs above his own, he contented himself with, "It is indeed. Now, do carry on with telling me what you were doing going through Monsieur Carnot's dresser drawers."

"Er, yes, quite."

"If you please," Javert beamed, drawing out one of the wooden stools from under the scrubbed plank kitchen table and motioning Madeleine to sit with all the gallantry he could muster. He then seated himself on a stool across the table from the Mayor, leaning forward with both his elbows on the table. My what a cosy little chat this was going to be!

"Well?" he said, flicking one thick black eyebrow up into his greying bangs.

From his post at the door, Maximus pawed the doorstep as if to underline the question.

Still crimson, Madeleine attempted to shake the question off with bluster, "Now Monsieur Javert, you surely cannot imagine that I was robbing this house can you?"

"_Well, oddly enough, Jean Val-Madeleine In Sheep's Clothing, that is exactly what one tends to assume when one catches a man going through draws in a house that is not his own"_

If he edited out the Jean Valjean bit that remark was actually fit for public consumption.

"We men of the police are not noted for our imaginations, Monsieur le Maire. However, when we catch a man going through drawers in a house that is not his own, that is the conclusion we tend to draw towards – "

At this juncture Javert found himself interrupted by a loud volley of neighing and pawing from the doorway.

The Mayor, meanwhile, sighed and slumped on his stool, looking utterly dejected. After a few minutes he sighed, rubbed his eyes and looked Javert full in the face, "This looks really shit doesn't it Javert? Really, really not so good"

"Yup!" said Javert, as gleefully as consummate professionalism would allow.

"Alright, alright. Javert, as one man of honour to another, I swear to you that this was not as it seemed and that there is method to my madness – "

An incredulous snort from the doorway.

"– and I do not mind explaining my actions to you. Just – "

"What"

"Would you mind getting rid of the horse? It's just that I'm finding the whole 'good cop, equine cop' thing somewhat unnerving.

"Monsieur le Maire has a point – it's really most unorthodox," Javert rose from his seat and slammed the kitchen door in Maximus's face before returning to his place at the table (What he did not see was the horse sniffing under the door for a moment before sticking his nose in through the open shutters in order to listen as best he could from there.)

"Well?"

"Do you know whose house this is?"

"Fabrice Carnot"

"Quite. And I suppose you know that his wife is sick, and that his son has got some girl with child and has to marry her?"

Javert nodded, he had been the one who had broken up the very shouty fight between Fabrice Carnot fils and Adele Poulet's father.

"Well, what I wished to do was give Carnot enough money to pay for his wife's medicine and allow his son to set up home."

"I see." Whether this story was lies or truth, it was typically Madeleine. Still . . .

Silently Javert rose from his seat and went over to the dresser, peering into the drawer at which he had caught Madeleine. It contained precisely what one would expect to find in such a drawer – candle ends, tatty bits of string, a few odd nails and, rolled up in a stocking, a few carefully hoarded gold pieces. Oh, and a not unimpressively sized roll of banknotes – crisp, new banknotes each bearing in the top right hand corner a miniscule pencil signature which Javert could just make out as saying 'Gaspard Lafitte'

He held the notes out to Madeleine, pulling an exaggerated face of resigned confusion, "Yours, I presume?"

Madeleine shrugged, seemingly between tears and laughter, "As you see, I was actually putting money in the drawer rather than, as is I understand customary with housebreakers, removing it. No fool like an old fool, huh?"

As if to back up his point further Madeleine turned the contents of his pocket out onto the table for Javert to examine – a few sou pieces, his house key, some jet beads, a tiny prayer book.

"Oh put them away Monsieur! This whole affair is really too stupid! Why did you not just give Carnot the money?"

"I feared he would be too proud to accept it – I had no wish to shame him," Madeleine said shortly. Catching Javert's eye he realised he would not be let off with a half truth, "And – I know how foolish this will sound - it is a weakness of mine to, wherever I can, do my good deeds in secret so that I cannot be thanked, and so that they seem more truly like gift from Heaven

"_What, like the Orphan's Hospital and the old people's home – very discreet those!"_ Javert sneered inwardly. He then ruefully acknowledged that this weakness of the Mayor's was very similar to one of his own, namely a fondness for the theatrical. It was unfortunate but true that most deeds were far more fun when accompanied by a little innocent sleight of hand.

"This I understand , Monsieur le Maire – I too have an unfortunate taste for the dramatic , although there is much to be said both in charity and police work for simplicity and directness. However, what I cannot understand is why you felt the need to break into poor Monsieur Carnot's house at two O'clock on a Tuesday afternoon in order to play good St. Nicholas? Surely your mission might have been better served by simply purchasing an envelope, secreting the money within, and pushing it under the door? Or by making use of our fine French postal system – the point of which is, one assumes, to send things from one person to another? Or, you might perhaps have engaged an intermediary to deliver the money - your clerk perhaps, or Madame Victurnien? Heavens above Monsieur le Maire, were you to request such a service of me I should oblige you if I had no more pressing matter to hand! Although I will confess," here Javert smiled in a self deprecating yet ingenious manner, "that the sight of me charging towards them brandishing an envelope would be a sore trial to the nerves of most of Montreuil's citizen!"

"Javert what can I say? I'm a fool and I take your warning in the spirit it is meant"

"It is not for me to criticize Monsieur le Maire's conduct or to warn him of anything. I may only advise him as a colleague – albeit an inferior one – not to repeat his actions of today lest next time he is surprised by the householder who, not recognising him, would be well within his or her rights to stove his head in with a frying pan!"

"Quite"

"Now, Monsieur Le Maire, I think we really ought to go. The only think more shaming than the Mayor being exposed as a felon would be his Inspector of Police being revealed as in cahoots with him!"

"Quite"

Javert noted that Madeleine looked a bit peaky at this last remark. Ha!

When they stepped back into the street Maximus whickered joyfully and once again thrust his muzzle into Javert's face, snorting into his whiskers, as playfully good natured as a kitten. However, when Madeleine attempted to pet him Maximus bit him – a quick, sharp warning nip as if to say _"I'd rather you didn't touch me if it's all the same to you!"_

"Javert, your horse has just bitten me!"

"He's not my horse, Monsieur le Maire"

"But I'd have thought he'd be just what you've been after all these weeks. Well, aside from the biting – and you could always put him in a flash noseband -"

"Dear me no – he's nowhere near steady enough for police work, this fellow. Too hot tempered, too flighty!"

That said, the two men and the horse walked along in sombre silence, each with their head bowed, lost in their own thoughts.


End file.
